Roses are Red
by Celeon
Summary: Aubrey's perspective of In the Forests of the Night. onesided Aubrey x Risika
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own In the Forests of the Night.

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It is nonsense when someone says that there are no such things of vampires.

If that were the case, I would not be here right now. If that were so, I would have lived and died humbly in an ancient world, never getting to see the rise of modern civilization. As it is, I have not been human in over three thousand years.

I have been walking this earth for so long that I stopped counting after the first couple of milleniums, and now I am known simply as Aubrey of Silver's bloodline.

Places, events, and faces seem to blend into the background as I stand off to the side. I watch time flow on and leave me behind. In all those years, few things and even fewer people have ever caught my interest.

But the human soul fascinated me like no other thing could. I delved into its secrets as I tried to crack the code to each and everyone's inner self. Once the mystery was solved, I could manipulate others into doing anything I asked. And after several centuries of practice, there were hardly any humans who I could not read.

Those who did remain mysteries became my personal targets. I sought to draw them to me, to coax them to abandon their beliefs—whatever it was that gave them their extraordinary strength. It became an art to destroy.

This is my nature. Hate me as you will, you will not be the first or last.

I cannot tell you my victims' names since I doubt I remember them all. But I know that there was one a girl called Rachel. For a time, I was convinced that she was the one I was looking for because, despite obvious differences in other things, she had a certain rare aura much like my own.

Then there is Risika. Though we are close in terms of power and status, we stay away from each other. I do not like the path that she has chosen for herself, nor does she approve of mine that reeks of death. She remains, to this day, a reluctant predator.

She has let her heart die slowly, suffering because of its love.

Risika loves that pet tiger of hers— Tora, I believe she is called—dearly. I watch her from afar as she strokes that animal's fur and plots her revenge against me. To her, I am nothing more than her mortal enemy.

I suppose that it is what I deserve, and so I bear her hate with good grace. I have long since resigned myself to it, having resolved to hate in her return while wondering what went wrong. I ask it of myself, because as usual, I am the cause for this twisted result.

Rachel. Risika. It does not matter what name she goes by now. She does not forget, and I do not forget. We both remember those days long past where this reality seemed so far away.

Three hundred years ago, I was more or less the same as I am now, but Rachel…Rachel was born in the colonial times, before the American Revolution. Back then, religion was still a central part of life. Heaven and Hell were real places, not just handy words to swear upon.

The quaint town of Salem was an excellent example of this.

---

1701.

"Welcome to Salem, Aubrey," Ather said with a coy smile as I passed through the town's entrance. "What brings you here?"

Seeing her for the first time in several centuries, I raised an eyebrow at her changed appearance. Instead of her usual gaudy silver jewelry and all-black clothes, Ather was now dressed like a human female, her attire comprising of a long dress and minimal makeup. She had disguised herself well. Though she did not stand out as strange, Ather definitely was attractive enough to draw eyes to her. But for all her enchanting beauty, I saw that there was nothing beautiful inside her.

Ather was a vampire, as am I, and though she is my blood mother—the one who made me immortal— I do not love her.

"The famous witch trials, obviously," I replied companionably, offering her my arm as we strolled through the streets. There were many people in the street that day, but we did not appear suspicious. I had long since found that a little vampiric mind control goes a long way, and I doubt that the humans noticed us at all. "News of witchcraft travels quickly, even through humans."

"Ah, of course," Ather commented, a hint of amusement in her smooth voice. "It is very interesting, is it not? To think that we have witches living among us! The thought is horrifying!" As she said this, I chuckled. It was a fair joke, considering that witches have hunted our kind for many centuries now.

"I see you've adapted well, Ather," I remarked, referencing her outfit.

She returned the smirk. "As have you."

Indeed, I had also dressed for the occasion. Vampires are constantly in need of different attires to blend in with their surroundings, and I had gotten used to changing wardrobes as the fashions shifted from one style to another. This time, I had selected the appropriate breeches and top. The glaring red of my shirt was perhaps too bold for the times, but I had always preferred bright colors to highlight my black hair and eyes.

"I hope you'll find the locals to be very pleasant people," Ather said as we continued through town. Occasionally, she would nod to or smile at a person she recognized, but I knew that it was just for show. She really couldn't care less about the humans. We stopped when Ather reached her destination—the tavern—and I wondered which unlucky fool would be her prey for the day.

"Feel free to stop by my home, Aubrey," she said before disappearing into the small building. Having issued the invitation, she smiled slyly. "Have fun." It was exactly what I planned to do.

Once Ather had gone, I continued on my tour of the town. To make my experience more interesting, I let my power over the mortals slack. With that barrier gone, they began to wonder about where the newcomer came from.

During the course of the day, I was approached several times. Some of them were young ladies who timidly milled around me while offering silent smiles; others were friendly folk who had noticed that I was a foreigner wandering quite alone.

"Aubrey Karew" was my alias. With that name I had concocted a story about being the son of wealthy merchant who had come from one of the southern colonies. I was a practiced liar, and the story that came so easy to my lips seemed to convince everyone. Within several minutes of conversation, I earned their trust and they began to tell me things of interest.

"Terrible business, this witchcraft," a man said in a hushed tone. I acted shocked. "There's one to be burnt this afternoon."

As it happened, I ended up watching the execution. I did not look away from the sight of the screaming woman as she was consumed by flames, but merely frowned.

It was obvious to me that the "witch" was not a witch at all, but just an ordinary human. Someone probably framed because one of the witch-hunters had a grudge against her. I shook my head at the foolishness of man. They did not know a witch when they saw one.

When I turned from the burning, I saw a stately building from a distance. The church.

Realizing that I had not visited one in many years, I made my way there. A vampire's life is often full of ironies, and I saw no reason not to indulge myself in them. Labels of "right" and "wrong" had ceased to bother me years ago.

I found a seat somewhere in the back of the church and remained silent as the preacher gave his sermon. It was tedious and dry, and I remained completely unmoved. But then, I was an unabashed killer and hardly an unbiased judge. The others around me seemed to be listening in rapture, however, and I let my bored gaze wander from face to face. It eventually landed on the girl sitting across the aisle from me.

I bolted up straight in my seat when I saw the bright aura surrounding her as she listened obediently. Instinctively, I drew away. That young woman was a witch. A true witch. And though she was untrained and most likely unaware of her heritage, it was never wise for one of my kind to get closer than I already was.

Yet, there was something else in her spirit that attracted me, and I found myself staring at her again. She was pretty, yes, but I was not one to be swayed by that alone. No… It had to be an internal quality—perhaps the fact that I could not read her so easily—that was her charm. She looked as though she would be bright even in the dark.

And perhaps it was just wistful nostalgia, but I was also struck by a sense of kinship.

I sat there throughout the whole service thinking about what I should do with this girl to whom I had an instantaneous attraction. There was risk involved, but I was willing to take the chance. The moment the service ended and people began to file out, I approached her.

Swiftly, I crossed the aisle to where she was still seated, her eyes closed in silent contemplation. Or at least, that was what I thought.

Amused, I realized that she had fallen asleep. I had never seen an angel, nor do I believe in their existence, but at that moment, I imagined that she must be the very vision of one.

As I considered waking her, another person did my job for me. A boy of about seventeen strode into the now almost empty church and glanced around as if looking for someone. Before he had reached her—I had stepped back to avoid trouble—I already knew the relation between the girl and him. Their features clearly marked them as siblings.

"Rachel," he called, gently shaking his sister's shoulder. "Rachel, wake up. "

She roused quickly and her eyes snapped open to reveal startling honey-colored irises. "Alexander!" she exclaimed in distress as she scrambled to stand up. "I'm sorry I fell asleep, but I was so tired and…" She trailed off when she saw me looking at them.

I nodded in acknowledgement but did not say more. I knew her name, and that was enough information for now. As I left, I heard Rachel say, "Have you spoken to the priest yet?"

Alexander's reply was defeated and subdued. "No, I couldn't tell him. I could never do it, Rachel." I heard him slump down into a wooden bench, and his desperate whispers, too soft for a human to hear at this distance, were clear to me.

"God, I beseech you, please help me to control this curse!"

Next to him, Rachel had begun to pray for the salvation of her brother's soul as well.

Why pray? I wanted to ask. If the boy had displayed signs of magic already, he was blessed. In an established witch clan and with proper training, he could have been a top hunter at his age.

Yet, it seemed that his unexplainable abilities frightened him more than anything. He had called it a curse. The fool. The only thing that is a curse is weakness. What was being damned to being powerful?

"The world is evil"— that is what I would have said to Alexander.

---

Now

"_Panthera tigris tigris_,_" _is what the sign reads.

I am at the zoo. Not to frolic with the animals, but to pay a visit to the beast that Risika loves. To see Tora for myself. And I have found what I am looking for.

Though I prefer the black wolf that prowls and bounds in the forests, I can see why she cares for her tiger the same way that she once cared for her brother. Like Risika, she has the feral mindset of a predator, and is both proud and powerful. Secretly, I admire her.

Tora gazes back at me through the bars of her cage with her jewel-like eyes, bright and intelligent.

It is strange. So many have tried and failed to understand me, yet, in front of this beast, I feel that my shields have been penetrated. Her look is calculating, as if she knows that I resent her.

_But you are the one caged, not me_, I say in my thoughts, running my fingers down one of the steel bars. I could easily break them just as I have broken all the cages that have ever held me, but I know that Risika purposely hides Tora from me. She wants to protect Tora, and would rather stay away rather than to let harm come to her loved one.

This, I do not understand because I am not soft like Risika. I do not always protect those I love.

Ah, but she does not believe that I can love at all.

History tells me that Risika is passionate, and that should I lay a finger on Tora, she will definitely come for me. I could kill her pet and force her to attack, but I leave her be for now. I will give Risika time to reconsider. For old time's sake, if nothing else.

Tora growls deep in her throat as I bid her good night.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own In the Forests of the Night.

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1701 

My blood mother is easily agitated, and I sometimes wonder why I put up with her. I had no need to, after all. Throughout the years I had traveled with her frequently, and I served as a bodyguard whenever one of her foes came for revenge. Ather herself was weak, but I, her fledgling, was strong. That was enough to send potential opponents scampering away.

Changing me was perhaps the smartest thing that Ather had done. But even a blood son could only endure so much. We had drifted apart after the initial years, but Ather still saw me as an errand boy though she didn't dare say it out loud. I resolved to free myself from even that small influence soon.

When I found Ather in her house, she was happy to find someone to whom she could rant. She was furious. "That damn witch!" she cursed loudly and without restraint, all pretense of being a polite young woman evaporated. "He interrupted my hunt and let my prey escape!"

I leaned my back against the wall of her house, listening with interest. What sort of witch would risk attacking Ather? Either a strong and brave one, or a young and stupid one. "Who was it?" I asked out of curiosity.

"One of Pandora's," Ather snapped. At the mention of the Triste's name, I understood why she was annoyed. I have had the privilege of meeting Pandora before, and I knew that she was a powerful witch. More powerful that either Ather or me. If she had truly taken Alexander under her tutelage, it could become trouble indeed.

Not that the thought of trouble particularly bothered me. "Will you let this go, Ather?" The question was redundant, of course.

"No," she replied stiffly, as if she thought that there was something wrong with my head. "He made me bleed, so I have blood claim on him and his family. I will have my revenge." Ather had pride, but it was an empty pride. It looked like she expected me to step in and avenge her, but I refused to fight pointless battles. I did not care for Ather or Pandora's foolhardy student enough to intervene.

"So what was his name?" I asked for the lack of a better question. Before Ather had replied, I was already heading out of her house again to go back to town. I had yet to feed that evening.

"Alexander," she spat, as if that name was a curse word. "Alexander Weatere."

I stopped dead in my tracks. That witch, as luck would have it, was Rachel's twin brother. He and all his family were Ather's for the claiming. Mine as well, really. Ather could be persuaded if I put my mind to it. But did I want to? It was unwise to care too much for any one thing in particular.

I recalled Rachel's face as she noticed me observing her, and decided that I did not want that girl to be just another person who I had passed by in my travels. And now that this perfect chance had emerged…

---

Now

Risika is stubborn. I try to deter her from clashing with me head-on, but she refuses to back down. She comes into my territory knowing that she is not welcome here, and she leaves a mess in her wake. It is all part of her rebellion. Doesn't she know that it is a fruitless struggle?

I find Ryan's abandoned body lying in the dark street with her scent hanging all over him. Risika didn't even bother to erase the traces of her aura. She has learnt how to play the warning game.

My mind returns to Tora in the zoo. I, too, can match her one for one if I so choose. _No_, I decide. _It is too soon_. _I'll wait a little while more. _I do not know exactly how long. So instead, I bring myself to New Mayhem where I find Jager in Las Noches. He is lounging at one of the more obscure tables in the bar, but I go to him anyway.

"What vexes you, Aubrey?" he asks leisurely as I sit across him. Jager, who is even older than me, has a tactful way of knowing whenever something is on my mind. It annoys me frequently, but I confess that this time, I do want someone to confide in. Jager is sharper and wiser than he lets on, and I trust his advice on anything but women.

"Risika," I said with a sigh. Though I say only one word, he knows what I mean.

Jager is interested. He has always supported Risika, and we sometimes debate on whether she will ever decide to come join the vampiric society instead of living in semi-seclusion. As a rule, I make light of these conversations, but I think that Jager sees through my attempts with those luminous green eyes of his.

"Has she gotten too strong for you?" Jager asks with a playful chuckle.

I laugh. "You can't be suggesting that I will lose to her, are you?" I ask incredulously. Inside, I am not so sure.

"But I am," Jager confirms, still smiling. "Haven't I always said that Risika will rise to the top? She is not a coward, and she has strength. It is only a matter of time before she realizes that she can beat you. I suggest you get prepared to be dethroned, Aubrey."

Scoffing, I stand up. "Keep your advice, Jager," I say, finding nothing in his warning that I can poke fun at. It only gives me the chills not unlike when one hears a prophecy. Much as I hate to admit it, his words offend me only because I suspect that he is right.

I depart when Fala appears. I have no desire to give her a chance to taunt me. While Jager is tolerable most of the time, Fala is as pleasant as a knife in the chest. Retreating to my room, I think about how best to send Risika a warning.

When I close my eyes and search through years of history, black roses, serpents, and blood all come to mind.

---

1701

The Weatere family was perfectly normal. But only on the outside.

Rachel's father's first wife was Lila Light, the last of a formerly prominent witch line. She had been killed some seventeen years ago, but her children lived on and carried on her line. Even though the twins were only discovering their magic, by blood they were highly gifted witches. They could not be left alone, especially now that Alexander was going to Pandora's side.

It was several days after Alexander's unfortunate attack on Ather, and I felt that it was time to let her in on the plan. I thought it strange that it had not already occurred to her, but then, my blood mother was not the sharpest of my kind.

"Rachel will be strong as a vampire," I told Ather as I entered her house on the outskirts of town. I had just fed and was feeling in better spirits than normal. Although Ather had stopped sulking over Alexander, I could still sense her resentment.

"If you want that child, change her yourself," Ather said, tossing her midnight hair over her shoulder. Her garish jewelry jangled as she shifted her position, the serpent bracelet on her wrist glinting maliciously.

"That isn't it, Ather, and you know it." I growled softly at Ather's patronizing tone. I may have been her junior when it came to age, but I was stronger physically and mentally. I reminded myself that I could make good use of her weakness.

"It would be appropriate revenge on her impudent brother," I pointed out casually, wiping away my displeasure so that Ather would not think that I was growing soft over Rachel. "Alexander will be torn apart by his sister's damnation. I know it."

Ather considered this, but only because the thought of inflicting emotional pain intrigued her.

"You have a point, Aubrey," she said finally, revealing a devilish smirk. As I thought, Ather did not particularly care for the lives of humans, and she agreed to my suggestion as quickly as one might when deciding dinner. "Very well, we will go tomorrow night." I raised my eyebrows, wondering why not that very night. I was eager to get it over and done with before something happened to mess it up.

"Manners, Aubrey," Ather told me, still wearing her sinister smile. "Today, you will pay poor Rachel a visit. You must at least give her a little teaser of what awaits her." _Besides, you'll enjoy it, won't you? _she added silkily, her words sinking directly into my mind.

_Of course_, I replied before disappearing from her sight. _I always enjoy a good hunt._

---

Now

Black roses are abundant in New Mayhem.

I hear that they were created by vampires, but no one knows for sure. It simply does not matter if they were. My kind are either too engrossed with hiding what remains of their humanity, or too dour and jaded to care about something so whimsical. In this modern day, we wreak havoc without reason, and we find joy in ugly things. It is a poor consolation for that we have lost, but it is all we have.

Quickly, I set about searching for an open bloom before someone catches me and wonders what business Aubrey might have with a rose bush. They know that I am not the romantic sort, but why invite suspicion?

It is not so easy to find the one that I am looking for, and I linger for more than a few minutes. They are all magnificent, certainly, but I want something perfect. Just like that one.

_Ah._ I had found it. Reaching out, I prepare to snap the rose, stem and all, from the hedge.

"Aubrey!" I turn at the sound of my name to see Kaei approaching. The black-haired girl strolls up to me with a genuine smile. She is perhaps the only being who actually cares about my life—I am her guardian, after all, and my death means hers as well. "What are you doing?" she asks curiously.

"Taking this rose," I reply a matter-of-factly, and I do just that. The stem snaps between my fingers, and I am careful not to let the thorns cut my skin. My blood was worth too much to be wasted on things such as these.

Kaei's ebony eyes twinkled mischievously. "Ah, but who is it for?" she asks, and I roll my eyes. It seems that even I am not exempt from her teasing. "Aubrey doesn't court his prey, and he wouldn't waste his time over someone unimportant." I refuse to answer. Seeing this, she pretends to look thoughtful. "You know, Jager was just telling me an interesting story about Risika…" Her less than subtle implication does not go undetected.

Grimacing, I reply dryly, "That's hardly it. Risika just needs to be reminded of where she stands. She hunts in my lands now, and she's even killed one of my servants."

Kaei shrugs at my defensiveness. "I don't understand your relationship with her," she says. "Why waste so much time if you only feel indifference?" A stern glare brings her to her senses. Wisely deciding to be useful, Kaei brings me a white florist's card to accompany the rose. I spend a long time figuring out what to say.

In the end, I write only, "Stay in your place, Risika." A lack of words often ends in the brusquest of messages, explaining nothing at all.

Risika's home is large but not elaborate in design. I find it reminiscent of a previous era. Here, she lives and hunts quietly without joining in on the madness of my kind. I stand in her empty bedroom, and gaze around. Does Risika drown in suffocating memories every time she sleeps?

I leave the gift—the threat— in her house, on her bed where she will find it once she returns. As soon as my hand sets it down, I look at the rose again. Its petals are an alluring color as deep as the inky night sky, contrasting with the scarlet bedspread on which it lies. I cannot shake the feeling of peculiarity.

It is as though the blackness of a terrible curse has touched and clung to that rose.

---

1701.

Almost instantly, I appeared in front of the Weatere household. It was a simple house, and nothing about it betrayed the abnormality of the residents. Mindful of the unease my dark aura might cause the humans, I swathed myself in a dampening illusion and knocked on the door.

Rachel's father opened it.

His cautious eyes took in the bold, extravagant color of my crimson shirt as I stood on his doorstep. His other daughter hung behind him, her eyes widening in awe. I could tell with a single glance that these were ordinary folk and could not see past my disguise.

With an easy, harmless smile, I extended my hand to Rachel's father. "Good afternoon, sir," I said politely. I did not want to rouse his suspicion unnecessarily. "Is Rachel home?"

The man relaxed visibly. He probably thought that I was another of the young men courting his daughter now that she was seventeen and of marriageable age. He sent his younger daughter to fetch Rachel. "Please come in," he bade me. I smiled again and gave him my thanks.

"I'm Peter Weatere, Rachel's father," he said, closing the door behind me. Noticing the new arrival who had just stepped into the room, he added, "And this is my son, Alexander."

In response, I turned to the blond-haired boy who I had only seen once before but heard so much about. I watched for a reaction, nearly laughing at the dumb shock that I saw in his face. He knew who I was.

I noted that Alexander bore almost no resemblance to his father. His fine features were inherited from his dead mother, just as he had gotten his witch magic from her. Did Peter Weatere know that his gentle son had taken to hunting vampires every night?

However, my attention was diverted as soon as Rachel entered. Mr. Weatere noticed my distraction. "This is my other daughter, Lynette," he said, pointing the plain child out to me. I did not give her a second thought. "And of course you know Rachel."

I was already looking at her. Unlike her half-sister's unremarkable features, Rachel's appearance was truly striking. Surely, she was already the most highly sought after girl in town. But this did not interest me nearly so much as the rebellious spirit that she could not completely hide despite her proper, religious upbringing. And if I was not deceiving myself, she was just as taken with me as I was with her.

Rachel quickly looked down when she saw that I had noticed her eyes on me. I also wrenched my gaze away, remembering that it was impolite to stare at a lady especially in the presence of her father and brother.

"Aubrey Karew," I said, introducing myself to Mr. Weatere with a handshake, as was expected of a well-bred young man in that day and age.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Karew," he replied, grasping my hand. His palms were rough from honest hard work. Mine, by contrast, were fair and smooth from my nocturnal activities, but my illusion hid those from him as well. He went on to ask, "How may I help you, Mr. Karew?" but I was barely listening.

I looked at Rachel again. When I did so, I saw a flicker of recognition on her face, and I knew that she remembered our first encounter. Though we had not spoken to each other, by the time we had parted, I had wanted to make Rachel into one of my kind. In her young, innocent self, I had seen myself three thousand years ago.

Like me, Rachel was not suited to live in a hypocritical world that justified their evils with religion. Like me, she did not believe in the divine powers of the gods.

Yes. Rachel, I believe, was born into the wrong time. She should be free from the society that governed her life, a freedom that she could not have now. Even if she denied it, Rachel did not belong in this restricting era any more than I did.

Unconsciously, my power had already reached out to capture her in it. She could not look away. I was sure that the true hypnotizing effect was not one that even my great strength was capable of producing.

Wordlessly, I pushed the long stemmed rose into her hand. She accepted it.

"Mr. Karew," Peter Weatere's voice cut in. A frown had settled on his forehead. "This is rather improper—"

"You're right," I said, cutting him off. He became silent as got a closer look at the rose.

Since I was masquerading as a suitor, a flower would not have been an unusual gift. However, as Rachel and her father could see, it was black as the night. A perfect blossom of demonic beauty, that was my gift. A black hearted love.

The edges of my lips curved up slightly as I saw Rachel's discomfort. A thorn had bitten into her skin and droplets of blood dripped down the rose's stem. It unnerved her, but she quietly hid her hand behind her back. Her father had not seen, but I had.

_You are mine now_, I thought predatorily, my dark eyes lighting up. Her blood was mine.

Behind Rachel, Alexander's golden eyes darted from me to the rose to the blood. Horror crossed his face. I smirked derisively. Of course, he would know what this meant.

Noble Alexander had never been able to bear the thought that his magic qualified him for burning at the stake. Anything unholy irked him. I could read him without much effort. It was killing him to know that his other half, Rachel, would soon become a vampire.

_You monster_, he spat at me. I did not flinch under his mental assault. The others were oblivious to our silent argument. _How dare you use my sister like that! The quarrel is between your mother and me!_

I caught Alexander's gaze challengingly and he glared back, refusing to cringe.

_Your whole family became fair game when you shed Ather's blood_, I reminded him. It was a law of my world that he, such an inexperienced hunter, had not known. _You damned Rachel when you saved Lynette._ _There is nothing you can do now, boy_, I said confidently before departing, my laughter no doubt echoing in his mind.

---

Now

I swing the door of Café Sangra open, scanning it with narrowed eyes. The club is in my district of New York, and thus, it is my responsibility to rid it of annoying disturbances. Reports of a Triste on the prowl have reached my ears, and I have followed the distinct aura to this place, certain that I will find an unwelcome visitor here.

Almost instantly, I find him.

At the counter, there is a fledgling feeding on a young man with blond hair. The one who catches my attention is not the vampire, but his prey. That man is not prey at all.

Biting back a curse, I stride forward and grabbing the fledgling's arm, fling him away from the Triste. I was just in time; if he had taken just a little more of the witch's poisonous blood, he would be dead. I do not look at him, and turn instead to the Triste whose plan I have foiled.

"Alexander," I hiss, recognizing him in an instant. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I am looking for Rachel," Alexander replied with a straight face. He leans against the counter behind him arrogantly, as if all of us are nothing but scum. I have no doubt that that is his very opinion of me. "Where are you hiding Rachel?"

I scoff at his answer. Rachel has been dead for a very long time already. Dead to the mortal world, dead to me.

"There is no Rachel here," I tell Alexander, folding my arms across my chest. Around us, most of the younger vampires have started to disappear in fear of being caught in the crossfire of a potential fight. "Get out before I have to kill you."

Alexander does not budge. "I know what Ather did to her," he says in a quiet undertone as he leans forward, meaning to intimidate. "Tell me where she is, Aubrey."

_No. Never._

"You really are a fine brother, Alexander," I say mockingly, enjoying the pain clear in his face. "It's a pity that you're three hundred years too late. You failed then, and you're a fool to think that Rachel will come back now."

Alexander's expression darkens and he catches my arm in his anger. It is a mistake. My eyes become as cold as ice as I dislodge his grip by forcing his hand away. He is strong, but I am still stronger.

His golden eyes burn with hate—hate that he cannot voice because he thinks that he is above the bloodthirsty ways of creatures like me. Saint-like and blind to the true nature of the world. How like Alexander.

I cannot stand his disdainful look anymore. Instead of ordering him away, I simply toss from me. Alexander lands on his feet, but his humiliation is evident. He has already humbled himself greatly by entering the domain of his enemy.

He loves Rachel that much.

"Get out and don't come back, Alexander," I tell him, my hard tone making it clear that I will not warn him again. He bows his head momentarily, and his shoulders sag as he turns to leave. However, he catches the eye of the vampire who he had attempted to destroy and hands him a single piece of paper.

"Give this to Rachel, Ather's fledgling," he whispers. And then he is gone.

The vampire, still weak from the poison in the Triste's blood, looks to me for instruction. I do not respond as I am already wondering what Alexander's sudden appearance might bring. Does Risika already know that her brother was searching for her? Did she even know that he was alive?

The fledgling is still holding Alexander's note, his last lifeline. My nose picks up the salty scent of tearstains on the tiny scrap of paper. Alexander has shed many tears over his lost sister. I, I do not cry. Sadness is a stupid emotion to show on the outside.

Shall I show him the way to Risika? Or shall I endeavor to prevent them from meeting? I disappear as well.

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own In the Forests of the Night.

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1701

The night arrived. As promised, Ather and I went to the Weatere home.

By now, Ather could see that Rachel had great potential—as much as Alexander. Her interest had grown even more when she found that they were twins who dearly loved each other. It was a fancy of hers that her new fledging should be like one of the two ancient beings, Siete and Triste. Long ago, the two had each gone their separate ways, and up to present time, their descendents were the deadliest of enemies. Rachel and Alexander seemed destined to follow that path. Their story was the stuff of legend, and Ather did so love to be able to boast of being the mother of legends.

Alexander confronted us in the backyard, by the well. He was young and weak then, no threat at all. I did not take him seriously and neither did Ather. I could have easily used my blade to stop his heart if I had wished it. It certainly would not pain me to do so, and Alexander knew it as well.

Yet, the heavens smiled on him that night. Pandora's intervention narrowly saved his life.

Unlike Alexander, Pandora was no fool, and she knew that sacrifices have to be made, especially when reasoning with vampires. The deal was made: the life of her student for that of his sister. It was a fair trade. She took Alexander away where he would not taint his mind with unclean sights.

I watched Rachel succumb to the darkness as she struggled futilely. I had known from the start that she would fight the change rather than embrace it. It would be that defiance that would make her strong, and I was proud to know that I was right. Morbidly so, but I was proud nonetheless.

Rachel fell back, exhausted. Ather's black blood had entered her body and very soon she would become one of us. I had gotten my wish. But I did not want to watch as Rachel woke as a newborn vampire. Would I be able to steel myself, or would her cries cut into my soul? I let Ather take her back to her house where she would coax her latest creation—Risika—into feeding and making her first kill.

Who would be her first victim?

Risika's decision would determine the rest of her existence, regardless of how long or short it may be. Either way, I had no illusions of her fate. Risika _would_ be a killer, and if I had a warmer heart perhaps I would have pitied her enough to help. But pity is for the weak, and Risika was not so.

Later, I heard from Ather that Risika had taken the life of an accused witch.

"I think she's beginning to understand, Aubrey," Ather told me, quite satisfied with her handiwork. When I pointedly asked where my new blood sister was, she waved her hand delicately. "Even that sort of mercy killing was too difficult for her to bear, so she ran away from me," she said with a small, deliberate sigh. "But Risika is a sensible child. She will return to me sooner or later."

I did not comment. Risika was young, ignorant, and alone. Secretly, I feared that she would choose the noble path and starve. Even though I knew that the mentally weak should not be allowed to stay alive, I still hoped that Risika would survive.

Ather is a cold mother cares nothing for her children other than their strength. Risika quickly ceased to be interesting as her mind turned elsewhere the instant news about the vampiric base of Mayhem reached her. I had not visited Mayhem in a while, but they said that it had been razed to the ground. Jager, Ather's blood brother, was partially responsible for its burning since the culprit was one of his—Kaei. And rumors say that she was not alone.

Risika became old news in the face of the power struggle that would soon ensue. Ather barely paid attention when I asked if she had begun to search for her latest acquisition. Risika had become just another one of her many fledgings; there was no attachment whatsoever though Ather had even chosen her new name. Quite suddenly, I found that I was the only one who remembered how Rachel had become Risika.

Rachel was simply forgotten as time went on. Even Risika herself is reluctant to remember. Today, few of my kind know that Ather ever had a fledging by that name.

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Now

Alexander is the least of my problems right now. Though the Triste gets on my nerves when he travels freely through my part of the city, he does not instigate trouble. Not like Risika does.

Risika sends my messenger away, and foolishly strays off her lands again. There is no more doubt in my mind that it is time to strike. I bring myself to Tora again, prepared for a slaughter. I do not enjoy killing this beast that deserves to be free, but Risika has to learn through pain.

Without making a sound, I knock out the guard on duty and near the cage. Bending the metal bars is almost effortless, and I step into the arena confidently. As I face Risika's tiger, I make myself harsh and single-minded. In the past, I have done many things for survival that were not things that I had wanted to do. These lessons never fade.

The two of us are combatants fighting for our lives. Sympathy for Tora means death for me, and I cannot have that. Any survivor would understand.

Tora fights valiantly, but it is in vain. I plant my knife in her heart and, leaving her body in the cage, go to taunt Risika. She has just returned to her home after hunting in my lands. Immediately, she knows that there is something dreadfully wrong. I remain cloaked in the darkness of night but she can sense me there.

_"Tiger, tiger, burning bright,"_ is all I say to her as she curses at me.

I feel her terror as she rushes to Tora's side. Her raw grief turns into fury. As I hear her screams, I know that I have started something that I cannot reverse even if I wished to.

Scars are curious things. The ones that remain on the flesh do not hurt half as much as the unseen ones borne inside the soul.

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1701

Ather was content to let Risika hunt and journey as she pleased, but I did not let her out of my sight or my mind. I knew that Rachel was a survivor, but I was worried that her humane upbringing would spoil that predatory nature. Would she be willing to compromise her morals and kill humans for sustenance? The more I thought, the more uneasy I became.

When a few weeks had passed without a trace of Risika, I got tired of waiting. With a farewell to Ather—I did not say the reason I left—I set out to find her myself. It was not a habit to spoon-feed anyone, but I had not endeavored to have Rachel changed only to let her die within the first few weeks.

I was relieved when I found her in the Appalachian Mountains with her prey stowed under a tree. Risika had come to terms with her change. A smile flickered onto my face, and my mood lightened somewhat. Looking up at where she was lying comfortably in the treetop, I called her attention to me.

"Ather has been looking for you," I lied, conveniently finding a better reason for my presence. A vampire of my status does not broadcast his true thoughts unless he doesn't mind being seen as weak, which of course, is a taboo.

Risika jumped down and glared at me. Her hair had gotten tangled with brambles and had lost their silken quality. There was dirt smeared on her face that was twisted in her dark mood. "Tell Ather I do not want to see her." Her words were cutting and cold.

"Tell Ather yourself—I'm not your messenger boy," I retorted.

"No, you just take Ather's orders, like a good little lapdog," she said with the same condescending manner.

That statement prickled against my pride, and I drew myself to my full height. "No one orders me, child."

"Except Ather," Risika said venomously. "She snaps and you jump. Or search, or kill." Bitterness slipped in as she said the last word. She was thinking of Alexander and his murderer—me.

I laughed a mirthless laugh. She did not know that Alexander was alive, and I would not tell her knowing that she would just run off after him. "Not always…" I insisted, stretching my good humor to the limits. "I just didn't like your brother."

"You laugh?" Her voice had gotten louder in her grief. My attempt at lightness had convinced her that I was truly a cold-blooded killer. "You murdered my brother and you laugh about it?"

Unwilling to take her abuse, I matched her question for question. "Who was that carrion on the ground behind you, Risika?" I asked, taunting her. It is an instinct for me to pinpoint others' vulnerabilities and pounce on them without mercy. I accused Risika of the very crimes that she so judgmentally laid on me.

"Did you even bother to ask? Who loved him? To whom was he a brother? You stepped over his body without a care," I said, seeing the change in her expression. Her temper had been cooled momentarily on the realization. "Over the body—no respect, Risika," I chided mercilessly. "You would leave his body here without a prayer for the scavengers to eat. Who is the monster now, Risika?"

She opened her mouth to argue. "He—"

I halted her protest, asking with a laugh, "He deserved it? Are you a god now, Risika, deciding who is to live and who is to die?" She had hidden her face in the darkness, not wanting to meet my mocking. _But you can't hide_, I thought, smirking crookedly.

"The world has teeth and claws, Risika; you are either the predator or prey. No one deserves to die any more than they deserve to live. The weak die, the strong survive. There is nothing else," I concluded, my voice dropping at the end. _Throw your morals away. They are only chains to hold you back. You've never truly believed in them, so don't keep fooling yourself. We will not judge you the way the humans do; you don't have to hide anymore. _

For a moment, I thought that she might actually listen to me. Ather had told her similar things, and Risika was still unsure. Then I made my mistake. "Your brother was one of the weak," I told her, overconfident in my ability to bend her mind. I had gravely underestimated her love for Alexander. "It is his own fault if he is dead."

Risika moved faster than I had ever seen her move. Bringing her hand up, she hit me right across my face. Incredulously, I raised a hand to the place where my cheek was still stinging from force of the blow. Risika slapped me.

She was already coming into her strength, and she certainly had no lack of a temper. Those glaring eyes told me that much.

"Careful, Risika," I warned. The damage she had done had healed almost instantly, but it still didn't change the fact that she had had the gall to attack me. We vampires tend to be proud creatures, and I really am not an exception. She had struck me, and I was not going to let her off.

I could see that Risika was shaking. In fear, or in agitation? Perhaps both. "Do not speak of my brother that way," she commanded. "Ever."

I could not resist addressing the implied threat. "Or what?" I asked softly, dangerously.

"I will put that blade through your heart and you will never speak again."

Though I had received death threats countless times before, I shivered to hear the power in those words. Risika had always been so passionate. Instead of becoming angry, I made my face into a calm mask. Reaching for the knife that I always carried with me, I threw it to the ground.

It was a risky move, considering that magic was imbued in that witch blade. However, if I knew her well enough, Risika would not take advantage of a defenseless person no matter how evil she believed him to be.

It was such a human sentiment that I couldn't help trying to exploit it.

"Try it," I dared her. She moved slowly to withdraw the blade from the ground. But as I predicted, she did not use it. I spread my arms outward, making it easy for her to see her target—my heart. "Well, Risika?" I prompted. "You said you would—now do it. You hold the knife. I stand defenseless. Kill me."

Still, she did not move. It was like the air had frozen and nothing stirred within it.

"You can't," I said with a half-hearted laugh. _How will you survive, Risika?_ "You can't kill me while I am defenseless because you still think like a human. Well, know this, Risika—that isn't how the world works."

I grabbed hold of her wrist and her throat, and a hoarse cry escaped her. "Ather talks about you as if you are so strong." My lip curled as my grip tightened. Though her life was in my hands, I still believed that she was strong. Why did she insist on dying like a fool? "You're just as weak as your brother is."

My callous statement struck a nerve deep inside her. Rachel had been a girl without skills or a reason to fight, but Risika attacked me with new ferocity that surpassed that of a practiced fighter. It had taken me by surprise, but I swiftly fought back in the way I know best. Anger is blinding, and it is easy to be used against you. Risika's strength meant nothing when she fought only with her heart and not her mind. That time, I did not check my power, striking at her mentally. She reeled from the pain and stumbled, providing me my chance to go in for the kill.

Pouncing forward, I forced her to the ground and held her there. Before she could react, I grasped the knife that she had dropped and brought it up against her neck. She hissed, but I did not let go.

Checkmate.

I could have slit her throat there and then, and she would have died and been released from her curse. If she had been anyone else, I would have done it without a thought. Risika had made me angry that night, but I still did not kill her.

When I looked into the depths of her eyes, coal black and infinitely passionate, I remembered Rachel. I had not been content to watch her from afar. No. Instead, I had harbored a jealous and spiteful love and wanted to taint her to my color— the one that steals away all others.

I could not complain because Risika was what I had made of her. In every aspect, I deserved the hate I saw in her being. All this I knew and understood in my cynical way.

Yet, there was a heaviness about it that I could not explain.

"Remember this, Risika—I have no love for you." I did not stop to think on the truth of that statement. "I think you are weak, and I don't care about your morals. If you challenge me again, you will lose."

Defiant to the end, Risika spat at me.

I was struck dumb. Really, somehow I had expected her to accept defeat and then agree to a reconciliation. I had never failed in anything before. The thought that my mapped out idea had just become completely unraveled threw me for a loop.

The two of us had met in a normal way, in a church, no less. It had started off innocently enough, and I believed that I had not meant to approach her for the sake of destroying.

Then how? I asked myself. How had things turned out this way, falling into a cycle of hate with no end?

I could only wonder. Perhaps it is because I can only destroy, and I do not protect the ones I love.

Risika and I, we are similar and yet very different. So parallel that we will never agree.

In our position, I was close enough to feel her blood pulsing in her veins. I could smell its rich scent, and if I had leaned down, my lips would have pressed against her slender neck. The idea was so tempting that I nearly dropped the knife to sink my fangs into her throat instead.

I wanted to get inside her head and erase the memories of Alexander, of Peter Weatere, of Lynette, of sin, and of evil. How I wanted to twist her mind into forgetting her hate for me! How I wanted to force her to love me!

Wildly, I believed that that was the answer. Surely there was some way I could wipe away her memory of the past. I thought that my wish for a fresh start was reasonable enough. But I had not heard the voices of the gods in many years, and they remained silent still. For a horrible moment, I despaired.

Because of our great power, it is extremely dangerous when vampires act on impulse. There's no telling what we will destroy in fits of passion. At that point, I did not care. A pathetic longing took hold of me, and biting back a howl, I drew the knife across her skin in a slashing line.

I came to my senses as soon as the blade left her flesh. Instantly, the hazing despair passed, and I remembered how that blade burns hotter than fire. She screamed. All illusions shattered and shame crashed down upon me when I realized that I had lost control.

Shaken by what I had done, I did not stay long. As I disappeared from her, the screams continued. I did not turn back, fearful of what I wold see. I shut off the image from my mind until I could face it, even then, the recollection of the madness, desire, and hope haunted me. They were things that I thought I gotten rid of long ago. I did not understand why they had resurfaced that night.

I swore that Risika should never know what had happened within the maze of my mind.

And so, it remains a sealed Pandora's Box.

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Now

I watch Risika as she sleeps on her bed, scarlet comforter making me think that she is lying in a pool of blood. She looks as if she will not wake, but almost instantly after my arrival, she rises and calls me from my hiding place in the shadows. She knows my aura well.

Now that I have been discovered, I emerge and speak to her for a time. We chat as I toss my knife up and down, watching as Risika's eyes follow it. I am almost certain that she is willing it to slip and cut my evil heart out. Wishful thinking.

"Why are you here, Aubrey?" She does not rail at me. She has regained some composure since Tora's death.

"I just came to offer my condolences for the death of your poor, fragile kitten," I say breezily, smirking as she steps toward me. "Careful, Risika," I say, and it stops her in her tracks. "Remember what happened the last time you challenged me."

"I remember," she answers heavily. She sounds so very old even though her face is as youthful as it had been three centuries ago.

"You still wear the scar, Risika," I comment. The pearl white line on her skin is almost invisible, but I will always know that it is there. My tone is soft, as if my voice could reach it with a feather-light touch. That rending of her pale flesh marked her as one on whom I have trampled, and she wears it always as a reminder that she has sworn to avenge herself. "I can see it even from here."

"I have not forgotten, Aubrey," she says.

Risika does not hate Ather anymore. Instead, she has chosen to direct everything that went wrong in her life to me. I know that it is because she is afraid of what I did—can still do—to her. She is furious because I can turn her anger against her.

We exchange threats briefly before she grows weary of banter and commands me away. I oblige her, because I too, am tired. As soon as I depart, my good humor fades away like a whisper in the wind. And when my good humor fades, a restless anger fills the void. I go back to Las Noches.

"Hello, Aubrey," Jager greets mildly. He is sitting on the counter of the bar and beckons me over. "Risika was just here."

_He knows about Tora_, I realize. And he knows what Risika does not— that I do not take pleasure in destroying creatures so much weaker than me. That knowledge makes me all the more irritable. I storm up to him, my black mood creating a negative aura about me.

"She is afraid of you," Jager says, repeating a thought that I have had for the longest time.

"What else is new?" I mutter, rummaging through the stores of bottles looking for something to drink.

Jager observes me, bemused. "But I told her that she does not have to be, and she is beginning to see my point." I look up sharply.

"She wants to avenge that scar and everything you have taken from her, Aubrey," Jager continues. "You can only push her so far until she retaliates, and you have already done that. She does not intend to run. Look at the tiger stripes in her hair, and you will know that Risika will not lose to you."

I remembered those bold stripes. It is remarkable how a simple change in hairstyle can change a person. I pause only for a second before returning to my rummaging. "She's too weak. I'll crush her."

"Is that so?" Jager asks critically. As always, he has seen that my words are empty. "The way you have been acting, I would think that you were the one who fears her."

He does not flinch as I slam the cupboard shut, some of the bottles inside breaking from the force. "That's enough, Jager," I snap tersely as I stand up. His certainty unnerves me even more than his meddling bothers me.

"You will fight her then?" he prompts. Jager is never intimidated.

"Of course!" I reply in disgust. This conversation is not one that I wanted to have in the first place. I spin around and stalk away when Jager stops me with a hand on my arm. "What?" I literally shout.

His eyes twinkle with amusement at my expense. He loves seeing me sweat. "Just so you know, Aubrey, I will be rooting for Risika." I scowl at him and wrench my arm from his grip, cursing under my breath.

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End file.
